


Lemonade days

by strawberriesandtophats



Series: No such things as stability (only flux) [3]
Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bisexuality, Body Image, Canon Disabled Character, Established Relationship, Gender Fuckery, Lingerie, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24215431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberriesandtophats/pseuds/strawberriesandtophats
Summary: “It’s sensible of you to wear just one or two layers, instead of your usual five,” Vetinari said, glancing over at Vimes, who was drinking his lemonade as if his only goal in life was to be properly hydrated.
Relationships: Havelock Vetinari/Samuel Vimes, Sybil Ramkin/Havelock Vetinari/Samuel Vimes
Series: No such things as stability (only flux) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1758511
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	Lemonade days

**Author's Note:**

> It is the dad bod Vimes fic.

Sometimes it was just better not to question things, in Vimes’s experience. Such as the fact that Vetinari was sitting in the best chair in the Vimes family garden in Scoone Avenue, a glass of lemonade in his hand. The man had just shown up in a light summer dress and wearing an old broad brimmed sunhat, and Vimes had been too preoccupied by the fact that he could glimpse the man’s goddamn ankles to say anything.

Instead he’d just waved, pleased to see that Vetinari was just using his cane to lightly support himself instead of gripping it so hard that it was clear that he was only functioning due to stubbornness and a broken pain-scale that insisted that there was no such thing as zero that meant that he was in no pain at all because such a state was inherently suspicious after so many years of constant pain.

Vetinari had just smiled and complimented Vimes’s pink shirt, which was patterned with a bunch of blue and purple flowers and leaves. Then Vetinari had sat down in the chair beside the one that Vimes had parked himself in, doing his damn best to enjoy his day off.

And it was a nice day, too.

At least for now. The heat and humidity were steadily growing worse, so Vimes had abandoned his plans of eating sorbet outside with Young Sam after school. By that time, the weather would be frankly unbearable.

The natural padding that Vimes tended to be grateful for during the wintertime, having grown used to being cold all the time, was not helpful in times like these.

“It’s sensible of you to wear just one or two layers, instead of your usual five,” Vetinari said, glancing over at Vimes, who was drinking his lemonade as if his only goal in life was to be properly hydrated.

Vimes looked down at the shorts he’d put on that morning, which had caused Sybil to do a double take after she’d realized that he’d put them on without any prompting whatsoever.

“I’m not expecting to be jumped in my own garden, so I don’t have to wear armor,” Vimes said, teeth still around the bendy straw. The lemonade was sweet and cold, and there was another pitcher of it inside if they wanted any more.

“And yet you’ve got your badge in your pocket and a pair of handcuffs too,” Vetinari mused. “Just in case you want to arrest someone, I imagine.”

“There’s no one in this garden for me to arrest,” Vimes said.

“Some people might make the case that I’m guilty of public indecency in this dress,” Vetinari said, taking off his hat and sticking his hand into it. He pulled out a painted fan and promptly put his hat back on. “And disturbing the peace.”

Vimes considered this, pouring Vetinari a glass of lemonade and watching as he selected a lilac bendy straw from the tin on the table. He’d heard that hemlines rose in times of crisis, but Vetinari’s dress was the floaty kind that was both lightweight and caused Vimes’s thoughts to wander into dangerous territory because he could see the lacy edge of Vetinari’s slip when the dress had floated up a bit in the breeze.

“What, by causing traffic jams when you pass by or something?” Vimes asked as Vetinari put his legs up on another chair to rest them and sipped his lemonade. The dress was buttoned at the wrist and had the sort of revealing neckline that made Vimes’s heart do absurd things.

Vimes smoothed the fabric of his worn shirt to hide how sweaty his hands were, his fingers brushing against his stomach. After all those years of not eating much at all except some porridge at work and perhaps lunch at a greasy hot-chair place if he could afford to go there that week, he was still not used to the idea that three meals a day was something that most people thought of as normal.

This shirt had been in his closet for years now and the first time he’d put it on, it had been baggy and strange against his skin. After all, he’d lived most of his life in uniform. He was not used to such well-made fabric that would not disintegrate from use after a few months because it was already fifth-hand and bought in the shonky shop.

But now he’d filled out enough to be able to wear it. And he was aware of just how carefully Vetinari was watching him, even if his eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses. There were still nights where he’d flinch if anyone went near his stretch marks, days when he barely recognized the man reflected in the windows of shops, grown soft around the edges. His brain had been so hardwired to see himself as a badly-shaven and scrawny that it sometimes rejected the message that things had changed.

He still had enough muscle to cause significant trouble if needed be. And these days, he was heavy enough not to be knocked over when a nob tried to elbow the pesky watchman out of his way. There was also a certain satisfaction in being able to put all his weight behind a punch.

“I suspect that I’d have to wear something far more…revealing if I were to cause problems in traffic,” Vetinari said.

“You cause problems on purpose every day, my lord,” Vimes grumbled and was rewarded with Vetinari gifting him with a smile that was decidedly smug. “I blame you for the state of my thighs.”

Finger shaped bruises all over the place, bite marks on the soft insides of Vimes’s thighs.

Vetinari hummed, a decidedly similar sound to the one he’d made when his fingertips had stroked the underside of Vimes’s belly last night, as gently as humanly possible. He’d asked for permission to touch his middle just seconds before and had gotten an affirmative that it was fine. And yet, Vetinari did not press his hands against the softest parts as if making a science experiment of some kind. Vimes had felt his breath on the back of his neck, slow and deliberate, fully aware just of how vulnerable Vimes was in that moment, cracked open like an egg at breakfast.

And Vetinari had not hurt him at all.

Sybil had watched them with interest, then come closer to kiss Vimes deeply, her hands on both sides of his face as Vetinari’s hand moved to rest against his heart and he kissed the place between his shoulder and his neck.

It had been a good night.

They kept drinking their lemonade in silence that wouldn’t have been this comfortable just a few years ago. Vetinari fanned himself sometimes, looking around at the garden in bloom and humming an old love song.

Vimes glanced at himself in the windows of his house and just saw a man enjoying his time in the garden instead of a body that had to be fixed. The shirt fit him just right, the shorts were in fact short and revealed quite a lot of his legs.

That was fine.

He had accepted that he did in fact have good legs. Being told that by both his spouses for years on end did that to a man.

“I always knew that you were trouble,” Vimes said as Vetinari drank his lemonade in a way that was both very suggestive and indicated that he was feeling far too warm. “Every day, I get letters about how you should be arrested for real-“

“And yet, here we are in your garden and I’m not handcuffed to anything,” Vetinari said with the air of a man that was currently wearing extremely beautiful lingerie and was planning on enlisting Vimes’s help in taking it off.

“There is no use in handcuffing you,” Vimes said, finishing his lemonade and crunching ice between his teeth. “You just get out of them in seconds.”

“Hm,” Vetinari said, leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes and tilting his hat so that it covered most of his face from the sun. His breathing had become too fast, his neck flushed as he fanned himself.

“My lord?” Vimes asked, peering at Vetinari.

There wasn’t a response.

How long had the man been outside today in this heat?

The carriage was all black, so that would be warm. And he didn’t have a parasol on him. Vimes had been careful to take breaks, going inside for some icecream and adding more ice to his lemonade. But if he knew Vetinari right, the man had worked outside at a desk on the Palace grounds, then been driven around the city and finally ended up here without much of a rest in between all those things.

“Do you want to come inside to cool down?” Vimes asked, watching as Vetinari kept fanning himself. He didn’t have the natural insulation that Vimes had, and his new medication caused hot and cold flashes sometimes.

And besides, the man was so pale that he’d burn if he’d stayed outside for much longer.

“You’re not going to hose me down?” Vetinari joked, standing up rather stiffly and grabbing hold of Vimes’s shoulders as Vimes picked up his cane.

“The water would just be warm,” Vimes said, shrugging. Perhaps it would be a good idea to soak a towel in cold water, then wind it and cover Vetinari’s face with it when they were inside. Or suggest that he’d put his hands under the tap too. “And if I’d do that, your dress would become see-through and cling to everything-“

“That would be very inappropriate,” Vetinari said when they were standing in the dark entryway. He leaned against Vimes, eyes closed. “A moment, please?”

“Sure,” Vimes said, looking outside at the garden because old habits never died as Vetinari breathed in and out, eyes closed. It was much cooler inside, the smell of flowers and fresh grass clinging to the air.

“The shower’s been fixed,” Vimes said, when Vetinari took off his hat and glanced in the direction of the bathroom. “I’ll get us some more lemonade while you wash.”

“Thank you,” Vetinari said, already limping towards the bathroom. The shower started almost as soon as the door closed. He could hear Vetinari fussing around with the knobs on the shower and finding one of his fancy shampoos.

Vimes found the lemonade and brought it into one of the guest bedrooms, because he was not going to have Vetinari climb the stairs in this heat. He sat down on the bed, enjoying the feeling of the cold and crisp sheets against his skin.

Then he fished out a romance novel from underneath the bed, musing that the man on the cover looked as if he spent all his time training and never ever ate dessert. And it was not even that he was muscular like Carrot, who was properly strong. Or wiry, like most men that had spent most of their life actually using their bodies at work.

In fact, Vimes had never met anyone that looked like that on a daily basis. Vetinari looked like a well-dressed broomstick, most of his officers actually ate food and the nobs that Vimes interacted with tended to be more focused on other things than their appearance. Only young aristocrats with nothing to do with their time could afford to be like this, Vimes thought, looking at the cover.

He put the book down when he heard familiar footsteps in the hallway.

Vetinari stood in the doorway, eyes bright and alert, water dripping from his long hair to the floor. His lilac dressing gown was barely tied around the waist, revealing a short slip with a lace edge. It was clear that the cold shower had done him good, as there was a deep blush on his cheeks, his movements sharper instead of as sluggish as they could get.

“Get over here,” Vimes said, patting the other side of the bed. He was going to say something about the fact Wilikins had made sorbet that morning that they could enjoy with Sybil and Young Sam later on after they’d rested up for a bit. But the dressing gown slid to the floor, revealing the smooth skin of Vetinari’s shoulders. And Vimes promptly forgot all about any plans that did not involve the two of them making the most of their afternoon.

The bed dipped a little as Vetinari sat down, propping his cane up against the wall.

All the heat in Vimes’s body decided to travel both up and down as Vetinari lay against the pillows, wearing nothing but that short slip.

“Does this count as assaulting a police officer?” Vetinari asked, tilting his head as he pulled Vimes closer by the collar of his shirt.

“One day, I’ll have to arrest you again, and you’ll stop saying things like that,” Vimes said.

“I look forward to it,” Vetinari said.

Lord Vetinari pulled him into a kiss that was absolutely scorching, wiping Vimes’s mind free of anything but the feeling of Vetinari’s hands on his skin. Vimes kissed him back, cupping the back of his neck as Vetinari moaned into his mouth.

Vetinari’s hands gripped his hips, breathing praises into Vimes’s ear before he put his hand down Vimes’s shorts and started stroking him, licking a stripe up Vimes’s neck when Vimes threw his head back when Vetinari twisted his wrist just so.

Both Sybil and Vetinari had made comments about how seeing Vimes looking well-fed and strong made them in turn feel happy and steady, as they could be sure that it was a sign of him feeling better than before.

Which appeared to be one of the reasons why they both insisted on showing him off so much.

Vetinari unbuttoned the shirt slowly as they kissed instead of just making the buttons pop off by pulling at the fabric hard enough. They were both used to far more layers, so it was a certain delight to have barely any fabric or metal between them.

Vimes pulled the slip up, hands brushing against the leather straps that held the dagger strapped to Vetinari’s thigh in place.

He did not arrest him for carrying a concealed weapon.

Instead he lost himself in the feeling of Vetinari’s skin against his, in how their bodies fit together. The sheets were cool and crisp as they moved against each other, Vetinari talking about stars as found new freckles on Vimes’s shoulders and back.

Afterwards, when they lay naked and clean underneath the covers, Vetinari’s leg wrapped around his thigh as they spooned, Vimes listened to the birds singing outside and the roar of distant traffic. In about five minutes, they’d have to get up and dress, because Young Sam would be on his way back from school and Sybil would have finished distributing pet dragons around the city.

But for now, they could stay here.


End file.
